Shattered Angel

by Baird Nuckolls

“Too bad. That might be fun to watch,” Danny grinned, watching the redhead make her way down the block. She walked down the stairs to the café and disappeared. Just then, the door opened on the Cadillac. A broad-shouldered man, wrapped in a heavy fur coat, got out of the car. His hat was pulled down and his collar up, which made it difficult to see his face. Morelli couldn’t tell if it was Aaron Hart, but he was going to find out. He watched the man walk down the stairs and go into Eats.

  “Danny, I’m going to see if I can find out what lover boy’s doing inside. You go warm up your car and be ready to take off if he comes out. I want you to follow him. You got it?”

  “Yeah, but what about you?”

  “Well, we’re getting paid to keep a tab on him, so follow him wherever he goes. I’ll try and make it back out in time to join you, but if he takes off, don’t lose him. You can call me later at Otten’s and give me the heads-up. I might have to stay and have a talk with our redhead.”

  “Got it.” Danny headed out to his car.

  Morelli crossed the street to the café. Eats was crowded and steamy inside. The redhead was wearing an apron over her dress and standing behind the counter. There were several people standing inside the entrance, probably waiting for a seat, so Morelli stood back in the crowd, but made sure he could see the redhead. He wanted to see if she knew the man from the Caddie.

  She was staring at the guy in the fur coat, but Morelli could only see his back. All did not seem well. She looked very wary of him. The counter was between them, but she looked like it wasn’t enough protection. They started talking, but it didn’t seem to be about the food.

  The man removed his hat and lit a cigarette as he talked and gestured broadly. Once, he turned to look at the waiting patrons. Morelli looked away so as not to be caught staring, but he got a good look, as the guy had glanced at him. It was definitely Hart and he looked really mad. That must mean that the redhead was Maggie McElwaine.

  Hart turned back to Maggie and said something that obviously irritated her. Their voices were getting louder as the argument escalated and Morelli tried to catch a word or two. One thing he heard was the name, “Mickey.”

  She made a sharp retort to his last question. He turned angrily and walked toward the door, where Morelli was still standing. At the last moment, he stopped and turned back to face her. His sudden movements caused some confusion in the crowd and Morelli took the opportunity to get ahead of Hart leaving. Who the hell was Mickey? What’s he got to do with this? Just before the door closed behind him, he heard Hart say, “You’ll regret this, Maggie. It’s not over until I say…”

  Morelli quickly climbed the stairs back to the street and walked past the Cadillac. He could see Danny waiting across the street and he hurried back to the Tin Lizzie, feeling sorry for the woman. Hart was a formidable man when he was angry.

  “It’s him all right. They’re having a hell of a fight in there, something about somebody named Mickey. Hart was right behind me. He should be out in a minute.” Morelli leaned into the open car door. “You know, Danny, there’s something about this that bothers the hell out of me. Something stinks here. Those two don’t seem quite the lovebirds that Mrs. Hart implied.”

  Just then, Hart came up the stairs from the café, buttoning up his coat as he went. He was twisting and shaking himself like he was trying to toss off a bad feeling or something. He walked around Sheridan Square and headed to his car.

  “Follow this guy, Danny. I need to know where he’s going and I sure would like to find out what the hell he’s doing. His wife thinks he’s cheating. His girlfriend hates him, and he hates her, and they’re arguing over another guy. I need to have a talk with the redhead. Can you keep after this one?”

  “Stuck like glue,” Danny muttered, watching the Caddy jump as it roared to life. “Some power that buggy’s got.”

  “I don’t think you’ll be running a race,” Morelli said told him, “not with the traffic. Just keep an eye on him.”

  Hart pulled away from the curb and headed east on Fourth. Danny stayed right on him. He was really good at that. Danny played it like a game. It took a kind of patience Morelli had never had.

  ***

  The taxicab was parked awkwardly on the triangle of Sheridan park. Aaron’s Cadillac was across the street. Angel’s second hunch had been right. He was coming to see that waitress. She glanced toward the restaurant Eats and saw a flash of red hair. Maggie had arrived, too. Angel waited for Aaron to get out of the car and was about to follow him when she saw movement from the park.

  She recognized the tall, thin man whom she’d hired a few days earlier. So, Morelli was following Aaron and Maggie, too. That was good. He was doing the job she’d paid him to do. She should stay out of it at this point and let him get on with his work. Although that didn’t give her the satisfaction of confronting the other girl. Not yet. She couldn’t decide whether to leave or to wait. She hadn’t come this far just to leave before it got interesting. She decided to wait a few minutes and see what sort of fireworks erupted from the café.

  Aaron was the first one out the door. He looked mad enough to spit. Angel smiled. Maybe he’d been on the bad end of another rejection. It didn’t seem to be his morning. Aaron climbed into his car just as Morelli came striding out the door. He walked quickly to a small black car sitting on the opposite side of Sheridan Square and spoke to the driver. Angel saw her moment. If she wanted to slip into Eats and speak to Maggie, now was the time to do it.

  “Wait here; I’ll be right back.” Before the cabbie could complain, she slipped out of the back and darted down the sidewalk, her hat pulled down over her ears. She didn’t want either Aaron or Mr. Morelli to recognize her.

  The redhead was nervously wiping up the counter. Her face was red, but no tears showed. Angel pulled a calling card out of her clutch and approached the counter. She wanted to hurry; either of the men might change their minds and come back in to continue whatever had been going on. She leaned over the counter and beckoned Maggie closer.

  “My name is Mrs. Hart,” she began. Maggie backed away, but Angel grabbed her by the arm. “Wait. I won’t hurt you. I just need to speak with you. There is money for you, if you’ll come to this address today.” She placed the card in Maggie’s hand. “Say you’ll come.”

  Maggie looked down at the card and nodded, but without enthusiasm.

  “That’s good. You won’t be sorry.” Angel pushed off the counter and hurried out the door. She heard the roar of Aaron’s car motor as she dashed back to the cab.

  “Don’t tell me. You want me to follow that car again,” said the cabbie.

  “Not this time. I want you to take me home.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Talking to the Redhead

  Morelli crossed the street, dodging cars and wagons, and walked back down the steps to the café. The crowd had thinned for the moment. They must turn ‘em around quick in here. There was an open spot at the counter and Maggie was still there. He took off his hat and sat down.

  “What’ll you have?” She didn’t look up from her order pad.

  “Just a cup of coffee.”

  She looked up then, surprised and perhaps angry that he wasn’t going to order any more. He was taking up a prime spot on a busy day. Maybe he should have something to eat.

  “What kind of pie do you have?” He looked over her shoulder to the cold case.

  She glanced back in the same direction, as if to check the inventory.

  “Apple, sweet potato, and banana cream.”

  “Which one’s the best?” Morelli wanted her talking to him. He wanted to settle her down before he started asking questions.

  “I don’t know; I don’t like pie. Whichever one you want.”

  “Don’t like pie? How can that be?” His voice was soft and she leaned a little forward to hear him.

  “Look, mister, do you want the pie or not?”

  “Sure, sure. I’ll have a slice of the sweet potato. And some sugar for my coffee, please.
” Morelli lifted his cup in a small salute. “Maggie, is it?”

  She looked at him more closely. “Do I know ya?”

  “No, ma’am. Name’s Morelli. I just overheard someone call you Maggie earlier.”

  “Aye, it’s Maggie. I’ll get yer pie.”

  Morelli watched her walk away. She moved with a certain precision in the tight space behind the counter—no wasted motion. However, there was still a womanly sway to her hips. She was medium height and average looking, but the red hair was a beautiful, deep red, not the brassy orange of many Irish lasses. It set off her pale skin and green eyes very well. He could see why Hart would be interested.

  When she came back with the pie, Morelli reached out and touched her wrist, to keep her there for a moment. “Do you know a man named Hart, Maggie? Aaron Hart?”

  Where she had been calm and disinterested, if hurried, before, Maggie was a frightened animal now, caught in the trap of Morelli’s hand. She jerked away, nearly knocking over another waitress who had just walked behind her. Maggie followed the young woman down the aisle and caught her at the end of the counter. Morelli couldn’t hear their whispered conversation, but he realized just how much he’d spooked Miss McElwaine when she disappeared into the back and it was the other waitress who brought him his check.

  “Is Maggie all right?” He tried to draw her into conversation, but she merely shook her head and stepped away. She seemed nearly as frightened as Maggie had been when he’d mentioned Aaron Hart. He paid his bill and left, worried that he’d flushed his bird and lost her.

  He looked around the side of the café but there was no sign that she’d left through the back door. He could only hope she would finish her shift, or at least wait until she thought he was gone, before leaving. With one eye on the front door and one on the alley, he sat across the street in the park and waited. Half an hour later, a redheaded woman emerged from the narrow alley beside the café. She pulled the collar up on a dark brown coat that he thought she’d been wearing when she arrived, but it was hard to be sure. She was carrying something in her hand. Was it a hat or some newfangled purse? She answered his question by donning a big, floppy hat. Well, she’d be easy to follow wearing that thing.

  Morelli pulled up the collar of his own coat as he dodged traffic crossing the street. On the other side, he fell into the flow of people, keeping a cushion of pedestrians between himself and the redhead. His height gave him the advantage, allowing him a view of her hat over the tops of the bobbing heads in between. She walked purposefully from Sheridan Square, southeast onto West Fourth Street. Following her was a matter of pushing through traffic, speeding up and slowing down as he caught up with her.

  Wind tore at his coat as they neared Sixth Avenue and the rain blew past. He put a hand on his head to keep his hat from flying away as the wind swirled around him. This was not time to be chasing headgear. He maintained his distance behind her, but she didn’t even glance over her shoulder once. A real innocent, he couldn’t help thinking. She turned south on Sixth and he watched to see if she was heading for the El. He moved closer in case she headed up the stairs. She cut straight through the crowds of people and he admired her strong movements. There was a swing in her walk, but not like the party girls at all. Yet it wasn’t a manly walk, either.

  The redhead was careful at the street corners, looking both ways. She crossed West Third Street, then Carmine. He crossed each street behind her, being equally cautious. At Bleecker, she turned right onto Downing and crossed to the other side. Downing was a down-and-out street, full of run-down apartment buildings. The one she entered, a four-story structure halfway down the block, was about the same as the rest. Apparently, the Village’s popularity hadn’t spread this far west yet.

  He waited before following her in. The tiny lobby was dark even in the light of midmorning, and there were no names on any of the mailboxes. Apartment numbers started on the first floor and this time the super’s apartment was right by the entryway. The door was cracked open, but Morelli didn’t see anyone. He followed her up the stairs, keeping one floor below her and placing his feet near the edge of each step to keep the wood from squeaking. The bare boards were worn to dirty, shallow scallops. What a hellhole, he thought. Frankly, it didn’t look like a love nest.

  ***

  When he reached the third floor, he heard her stop on the floor above, then heard a knock, and another. He paused to listen, and then moved up the stairs slowly. It took a long time for the door to open up there. He reached the top of the stairs just as she entered; all he could see was an open door and her moving through before it closed. He made his way along the hall. She had gone into apartment 408.

  If this is where she was staying, why did she knock? Was this another apartment rented by Hart? Or was she meeting the man named Mickey, whom she and Hart had fought about? Not knowing how long she’d be inside, he moved away and stood between 410 and 412, so if she came back out too quickly, he could turn away and she wouldn’t see him.

  He could hear an argument start up in 408. The voices were angry, but he couldn’t make out the words. It sounded like a man and a woman arguing and it didn’t sound like they were too lovey-dovey. Finally, they calmed down and it got quiet. Morelli considered moving back farther from the door in case she came out, but then thought better of it. If she was leaving, he needed to beat her to the street and keep an eye out. He started down the stairs and sure enough, he heard the sound of a door opening by the time he reached the next landing. As quickly and quietly as he could, he moved down the stairs and out the front door, listening to her progress behind him.

  Once outside, he crossed the street and continued down Downing toward the water. From the shelter of a doorway, he turned to watch the door. It wasn’t Maggie who came out of the building after a minute or so, but a thin, red-haired man who stood on the sidewalk out front. He turned up the collar of his coat and pulled down on the brim of his hat, but didn’t go anywhere. What was he waiting for?

  Morelli heard the sound of an engine and saw a Model T Ford came down the street. He and the man both watched it slow down and stop in front of the tenement building. Morelli pulled back into the doorway, but the man never looked in that direction; his attention was on the car. Morelli couldn’t make out who was driving. Whoever it was, they had their hat pulled down low and were bundled up to their ears. The man got in and it roared away. Guessing by the timing, he must have been the man in the apartment arguing with Maggie. And based on the red hair, he must be Irish. Was Mickey her husband or her brother? Morelli stood there, smelling the damned exhaust fumes until they mingled with the rain and the other smells of the city. The wind softened and the sun came out. Maggie was probably too upset to talk to him at the moment, but now that he knew where she lived, it didn’t matter. He walked back up Downing—time to go find Danny.

  Chapter Twenty

  Hart Mansion

  Saturday Afternoon

  “Young man,” Gladys called to her new assistant. “Harry, is it?”

  Henry Rutledge looked up from his typewriter. “Henry, ma’am.”

  “Come here, Henry. I don’t want to have to shout.”

  Henry jumped to his feet, nearly turning the small desk over. He managed to catch the typewriter before it fell to the floor.

  Gladys looked on, mildly amused. Better that he was nervous around her than arrogant. “You said your uncle worked in shipping?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Import-export. Charleston is a major port and there is a great deal of cargo going through her gates.”

  “I’m surprised that you didn’t look for work down at the docks here.”

  “My health wouldn’t allow it, ma’am. As your man mentioned earlier, I was injured during the war.”

  “But you feel up to the task of my assistant?”

  “Whatever you might require, ma’am.”

  Gladys gave him an appraising look. “Please get Harold Tisdale on the phone for me.” She pushed a small diary toward him. “His numbe
r is in there.”

  Rutledge looked around, but the only telephone in the room was the one on her desk. He stood beside her and looked through the diary until he located Tisdale’s number. Then he dialed the telephone.

  “Yes, I have Gladys Eldridge Hart to speak to Mr. Tisdale, please.” He listened to a voice on the other end and then cupped the receiver. “He’s not in the office, ma’am. Shall I leave a message?”

  “No, Henry. I’ll write a note and have you take it down there.”

  Rutledge thanked the person in Tisdale’s office and set down the phone. He wasn’t sure what to do next.

  Gladys drew a clean sheet of her personal stationary from a drawer and paused to think. She looked up to see Rutledge standing beside her desk. “You may go back to your work for the moment, Henry. I will let you know when this is ready.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He blushed and turned away. The color in his cheeks made him look much younger than she first imagined him to be.

  Gladys wrote her note, inviting Harold to call on her and discuss business. She said nothing specific. She would elaborate when he arrived. She sealed the note and handed it to Rutledge. “Henry, please wait for a reply. This is very important.”

  He took the envelope and left without a word.

  ***

  Angel’s last stop in the taxi was the family mansion on Park Avenue. She would have her mother’s driver take her home to the apartment later. But first, she wanted to speak to her about Aaron.

  Angel didn’t bother ringing the front bell. She had her hand on the knob about to turn it when the door flew open and she stumbled forward, straight into the arms of a young man she’d never seen before.

  “Goodness, ma’am. Are you all right? I’m so sorry.” He was flustered and put his hands several places that he shouldn’t in his efforts to help her to her feet. Angel wasn’t sure if she should be offended or just amused. She settled on amused.

  “Who, may I ask, are you?” She looked him up and down. He was pale and blond. The suit was out of date, but the watch chain was gold. So, he must be poor, but with a good name. Oh, she hoped he wasn’t here for her. It would be just horrible if Mother were trying to set her up.